The One With All the Ping Pong
by greenish orange
Summary: [Complete] Monica's recently acquired ping pong table triggers new emotions in the gang. CM.
1. One

**A/N: **I have adored _Friends _for such a long time I am amazed I have not caved and written something before! Anyway, this is not really supposed to be "episode length" or anything. It's more like a vignette, or a snapshot if you will. Of course, it will be C/M, because Chandler is the best thing since sliced bread . . . and all that jazz.

-

Everyone was slightly nervous when they learned that Monica had, by means mysterious to all, gotten hold of a ping-pong table. No one was nervous that she had stolen the table or obtained it in any way illegal; her acquisition of the thing was of no importance to anyone but Ross, who claimed she probably flew to Nevada and conquered all the Vegas slots in order to pay for it–she was _Monica, _after all . . . he wouldn't put it past her . . . she was bizarrely competitive . . . she was freakishly strong . . . purchasing a ping-pong table was probably just one more way to prove her mastery of everything from rock-paper-scissors to touch football. Nobody could disagree with Ross's ideas, but they all felt he had skimmed over the point of it all – Monica's violent competitiveness was an infamous character trait, one which the five of them had spent years avoiding. Having a ping-pong table would drive her to ask the inevitable:

"Who wants to have a go?"

Monica eyed each of her friends, all of whom were in various stages of scratching their heads, sipping their coffee, and pretending to watch people outside Central Perk's window.

"Um, Monica?" said Ross tentatively. "Wouldn't the ping-pong table look sort of – tacky in your apartment?"

Monica crossed her legs, smiled obliviously at Chandler, who was closest to her and looked like he was trying to drown himself in his coffee, and said, "Well, it would, but I thought – you know, Joey and Chandler already have the foosball table, so I thought I could put it in their apartment. That way, they can play it whenever they want and all I have to do is go across the hall any time I feel up for a game."

Phoebe and Rachel exchanged glances. "So you'll probably end up playing most of your games with Joey and Chandler?" asked Rachel.

Monica shrugged. "I guess."

Phoebe looked triumphant.

"Wait, we didn't say you could put it in our apartment," Joey said, looking at Chandler with a look of panic. He had had the misfortune of challenging Monica to a thumb war and would never, _never_ look at her competitive side the same way again. "What if we want to get something? Like … an extra refrigerator or something! How would _you_ feel if we couldn't get that something?"

"Joey, you don't need an extra refrigerator. You always use mine."

Joey looked defensive for a moment, but backed down quickly. "She's got a point."

"And Chandler doesn't have any problem with it . . . do you, Chandler?" Monica asked him in a deceivingly sweet voice.

"I don't think I could if I wanted to," said Chandler, sipping his coffee nonchalantly.

Monica beamed. "Then it's settled."

"Do you want us to help you move it?" Ross asked her, gesturing pointedly to himself and Joey.

"I don't think you've insulted the entire _room_ yet, Ross," Chandler told him sarcastically.

Rachel scoffed. "Oh, c'mon Chandler, you can hardly drag a cat."

Chandler glared at her and returned to his coffee, muttering something about a pot and a kettle. Rachel stuck out her tongue at him.

"Thanks anyway, guys, but it's already there," Monica said, breaking the quick skirmish with an amused glance its way.

"You put it in our apartment without asking us?" Joey asked her disbelievingly.

"Don't look so surprised," she said. "I knew you and Chandler would crack eventually."

"Yeah, but –"

"Okay, so who wants to play?" Monica interrupted excitedly. "I haven't played ping-pong in years and _man_ am I ready to kick ass."

Phoebe and Rachel began their own conversation, Joey studied something on the ceiling, and Ross stood up and announced his destination as the men's room.

To everyone's surprise, Chandler looked up from his coffee and said, "I'll play."

"You?" Even Monica looked stunned. "No offense, Chandler, but you _suck_ at ping-pong. I need a challenge – Joey!" Joey jumped. "Will you play ping-pong with me?"

Before Joey could respond, Chandler cut in, "I said I'd play, Mon. And I do not suck at ping-pong. I'm actually pretty good."

Monica shrugged. "If you want your cute little ass wheeled away on a stretcher, then fine, we'll play. It's your funeral."

Phoebe muttered to Rachel, "I don't think she's kidding."

"About Chandler's ass or murdering him?" Rachel whispered back.

"Well, I don't know, I guess that depends –"

Chandler looked at them with his eyebrows raised. "Could we _stop_ talking about my posterior, please?"

"Oh, yes, about that, Chandler – if your ass _is_ wheeled away, and, you know, you're not using it anymore – can I have it?" asked Phoebe seriously.

Monica, Rachel, Chandler, and Joey stared at her.

"So I have a fetish," Phoebe said and took a sip of her iced tea.

"Oh my _God_, you're in love with Chandler's ass!" Monica cried, laughing. Rachel choked on a muffin and Joey just stared at her in blatant awe.

Phoebe winked at Chandler. "It's a fine specimen, I'll say that much."

Chandler scooted away from her nervously. "Uh, is anyone else finding this creepy and _wrong_?"

"I think it's sweet," said Rachel, grinning. "Besides, she may have a point. Stand up and turn around; let's have a look."

"No, I will _not,_" Chandler said in disgust; "and it's not sweet. It's just . . . weird, and twisted, and _weird_ – Joey, back me up here."

Joey looked at him strangely. "Is there something wrong with you or something? What's weird with hot girls checking you out?"

"Actually, what's _really_ weird is you not finding it weird," said Chandler, who felt that, once again, Joey's intelligence was in question.

Monica, who had begun to look slightly impatient, interjected quickly. "Okay, as much as I'm sure Chandler appreciates the sentiment, could we please come back to me and my ping-pong table?"

Everyone muttered their "sures" and "okays".

Monica rubbed her hands together. "Yeah, okay, well – I don't really know what to talk about, but – I'm just so excited about _my_ ping-pong table! Who would've thought, Monica Geller owning a ping-pong table?"

"Who would've thought," Chandler muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" snapped Monica, turning so quickly he wondered if she had gotten whiplash. "Do you have a problem with my table, smart-ass?"

Phoebe burst out laughing. "Oh, oh, I got that!"

"No," Chandler answered swiftly, situating himself on the couch so that his arm wasn't in pinching range of Monica's fingers. "I just – I _think_ – and I know everyone will back me up here – that, well, it was only a matter of time before you . . . _obtained _an . . . outlet for your . . . _thing_."

Monica made a noise of complete confusion.

"What Chandler _meant to say_ is that you are a nutcase with a competitive streak so wide you could cross the Amazon with it," Phoebe offered helpfully.

Chandler shot up from his seat like a bullet. "Phoebe, watch what you say! Monica is _not_ a nutcase! She's a perfectly _sane _person with no abnormalities!"

"Oh." Monica's voice was flat. "I see. So you think I'm a nutcase."

"No!" he cried. "No, Monica, don't be stupid –"

"So you think I'm stupid?" Monica asked, her voice rising threateningly.

Chandler desperately looked for support, but everyone was much too involved in this little fray to give either side an advantage. _It doesn't matter anyway whose side they chose, _Chandler thought, _she is already much scarier than I am_. He considered voicing this aloud, but then thought the better of it.

"So you think I'm stupid?" Monica repeated, watching him with narrowed eyes.

"I'm not a girl!" Chandler found himself saying. "I don't say things I don't mean!"

Rachel gasped and pointed. "Sexist, sexist man!" Phoebe made a rude motion with her hands.

"No, no, _no_. No, no," Chandler said, backing up. "That's not what I meant –"

"Okay then, Chandler, what _do_ you mean?"

As Chandler was considering this carefully (one wrong word and he was unlikely to return with bodily functions), he saw Ross return and Joey distinctly ask if he had popcorn.

"Well," said Chandler uncomfortably. His tongue suddenly felt too large for his mouth. "Basically, I think that you're – overly competitive? But I also think you're the most beautiful woman ever. _Ever_," he stressed. He looked at Rachel and Phoebe out of the corner of his eye. They had their arms crossed and looked mutinous. "Besides Rachel and Phoebe, of course, who are miniature Aphrodites themselves."

"Of course," Phoebe said.

"I'm not _overly competitive_," Monica said defensively, clearly deaf to any other part of Chandler's apology. "I have a healthy dose of enthusiasm. I mean, so what if I like to win?"

"Monica, there is a _definite_ problem when you turn Monopoly into a brutal dictatorship with each hotel serving as a _ghetto_ for the unfortunate souls who can't pay their rent."

"That's so not true! I did not do that!"

"You held my piece at fake gunpoint for a half hour, just because my playing piece _happened_ to stray across the borders of the jail!"

"Those bars are there for a reason!"

"There is _no_ rule in the handbook that says _anything_ about petty technicalities and scary obsessive ladies who threaten you with a thirty-year-old popgun!"

"Do you want to talk about petty technicalities?" she yelled, getting angrily to her feet. "For your information, Chandler Muriel Bing, if there _were_ no technicalities there wouldn't _be_ a game! You'd get handicaps, I'd doll out the dough, and you'd _finally_ win at something!"

"I do too win at stuff!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

Ross looked at everyone somewhat incredulously. "I feel really out of place here. Is that wrong?"

Phoebe, Joey, and Rachel nodded their heads, murmuring agreement.

"You know, if this was an erotic novel, Chandler and Monica would be doing it right now," said Phoebe.

"What?" Rachel sputtered.

"Oh, yeah, it's an erotic novel rule. Like – when two people smile at each other a lot, they're totally turned on. When they see each other wrapped in a towel, they're totally turned on. When they watch each other eat, they're totally turned on. When they start yelling at each other, they're totally turned on. You start to notice these things after a while."

"Um, Phoebe, I hate to tell you you're wrong … but you are," said Ross in a self-aggrandizing tone. "There are no underlying sexual innuendos about this – it's just an argument, period. There's nothing to prove that either or them are _turned on _by this –"

"You just wait and see, Ross Geller," said Phoebe mysteriously. "As soon as they make an excuse to leave they are off to have sex in Chandler's bedroom, mark my words."

Ross laughed scornfully. "Why on earth would they make an excuse –"

"Ping-pong. Your place, now."

As the doors of Central Perk swung shut, Phoebe smiled knowingly and sipped her iced tea. "I guess I'm not the one to get Chandler's ass after all."


	2. Two

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews everyone! They are wholeheartedly appreciated. I'm glad you guys thought the ping-pong innuendos enjoyable. I sure did. Anyway, this is the last part; consider it my present to you all.

Ps: Fellow Chandler lovers, I hope you know you totally made my day. His ass _is_ a thing to be appreciated, isn't it?

-

"Don't you think we should go in there?"

"Yeah, I guess . . . maybe . . . I mean, they _have_ been in there for like two hours . . ."

"Two hours and five minutes, actually – if you count the argument."

"Just shut up and move your head, Ross. It's blocking the keyhole."

"You move."

"I was here first!"

"Hey, yeah, you guys, before we get into this, I was wondering . . . um, why aren't we just opening the door again?"

"Why? _Why_? Because we're _freaked out_! We're freaked out we're going to go in there and catch them doing it on the ping-pong table!"

"Oh. I see."

"Yeah, about that. Is this considered voyeurism, or is that only when your friends – and sister, I might add – _aren't_ involved?"

"Well, I don't _know_, Ross. I'll check my handbook on perverted hobbies. Because _that's_ what I carry around everywhere."

Before Ross could do or say anything, the apartment 20 door opened and Joey came out, holding sodas, potato chips, leftover Thai food and a half-eaten carton of butter pecan ice cream. Ross stared at him in sheer wonderment. "I thought you were going to the _bathroom_."

"We're going to be here for a while, aren't we?" Joey replied, plopping on the floor next to Phoebe, who immediately grabbed one of the spoons stuck in the ice cream and dug in. "We might as well eat and get comfortable."

"Amen," said Rachel. She grabbed a spoon and took the Diet Coke Joey handed her. "I can't believe Monica hid this ice cream from me! I could've used this, like, months ago."

"For what?" Ross asked skeptically.

"For _something_, obviously," Rachel shot irritably. Ross rolled his eyes and mimicked her under his breath.

Joey pressed his ear against the door, listening. "I don't know about you guys, but I can't hear _anything_."

Rachel listened quickly and shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. Maybe they're just freakishly quiet."

Joey laughed. "Chandler must su-_uck_," he said in a sing-song voice. Ross looked at him in disgust and Joey cleared his throat apologetically. "Or maybe the door's just really thick."

"And _that_ helps the visual images scurry away," Ross said sarcastically.

Joey patted Ross's back good-naturedly. "No problem."

A half an hour passed by. Joey had grown tired of the Thai food and Ross finally gave up his position at the keyhole, murmuring angrily that he couldn't see _anything_; and besides, it was just as well, because Monica was, after all, his sister, and if anything _should_ happen, manning the keyhole might not be such an ingenious plan.

Rachel laid back against the door and pressed the cold soda can against her face. "I'm so _tired_. And bored. And sore . . ."

"And hot," said Phoebe, fanning her face with the now-empty bag of potato chips. "Is it just me or is it _really_ stuffy here in the hallway?"

"Yeah," said Ross and Joey dully.

"We should just leave," said Rachel, looking at the door with a frustrated sigh. "They're probably not even _doing_ anything. They're probably sitting on the barcaloungers watching TV and listening to our stupid conversations for their own twisted amusement."

"I wouldn't call it twisted, Rach, without considering what _we're_ doing," said Ross bossily. Rachel glowered at him.

"Yeah, anyway, I think she's right. We should just go," Phoebe said, taking another bite of ice cream.

No one moved. Everyone looked down and studied their shoes guiltily.

"Yeah, um, on the other hand, maybe that's not a good idea," said Rachel. "They might need – support or something. Morally."

"Yeah, see – now I'm _curious_!" Joey whined. "We can't go _now_!"

Ross twiddled his thumbs. "Don't ask me. I don't even know why I'm here."

"Okay then. We'll set up camp here," Phoebe said excitedly. Her eyes widened. "Oh wow, yay! I've never been camping before! I mean, real camping. Not camping in cardboard boxes or anything."

"Well, we can't actually _camp_ here, I mean – if the super found out, we'd be fined or something, right?" Ross said. Phoebe's face fell.

"Oh, what do you know?" Rachel said quickly, noticing Phoebe's expression with an angry glance at Ross. "We're not bothering anyone. Besides, we reserve the right to hover outside doors and trespass uponour friends' sexual affairs."

Phoebe and Joey nodded supportively.

"I _still_ don't think they're doing anything," said Ross cynically. "Think about it. It's Monica and Chandler. Monica and _Chandler. Chandler _and_ Monica_. Ch_an_ –"

"Yeah, okay Ross, _that'll _stop them. Throw their names at them in different ways."

"He's just mad that I'm right and he's wrong," Phoebe said to Rachel. Ross spun around and cricked his neck.

"I am so not wrong," Ross stressed.

"You so are," Phoebe retaliated. "You saw them get all heated in that fight. You saw them leave to play 'ping-pong'. How can you just – throw away the evidence like that? Erotic novels don't lie, my friend, they just don't."

Joey nodded and exchanged knowing glances with Phoebe. Ross looked at them as though they grew two extra heads and declared the Tyrannosaurus Rex was, in fact, from the Jurassic period.

"I shouldn't even have to say anything," said Ross, struck speechless with incredulity.

"Then don't, for once," Phoebe said. "We actually want to hear what's happening."

Ross sighed and shrugged, defeated. "Eh, fair enough."

Like one, thefour friends leaned their ears against the door and waited.

-

"So, why did you put the ping-pong table in Ross's apartment again?" Chandler asked as he and Monica came to his door and pushed inside; she threw the keys on the coffee table and took off her jacket.

"Well, I figured if I told him it was in his apartment he would freak out, so I lied." She picked up one of the rackets and faced him. "I just wanted to, you know, see it from my window whenever I wanted to. Also, the delivery guy was giving me these weird vibes, like he didn't want to move it all the way up to my apartment."

"Devious _and _sort of screwy. Nice."

"Yeah, I know," Monica said, sounding proud of herself. "Get your racket, Bing, and let's do this. I hope you're not sore when I'm done with you."

Chandler strolled confidently to his side of the table, picked up the racket and grinned. "You're in for one hell of a ride."

"I'm sure. Hurry up, I'm waiting."

Chandler feigned a hurt look. "Give me a minute. I need to position my shot."

Monica slapped her hand against the racket impatiently. "You're such a loser. Just do it already."

"Fine, fine." Chandler served the ball easily and Monica smashed it back. He ducked just in time to hear it hit the wall behind him and zing back towards her side of the table. She scooped it up off the floor and gave him a shit-eating grin.

"That was so unfair," Chandler protested. "You can't do that to me! I was just warming up."

Monica swaggered back to her position. "You wanted to play dirty, didn't you? So I'm playing dirty."

"You naughty, naughty girl."

Monica twirled her racket and tossed her head boastfully. "Enough with the complaining. My serve. One-zero, me!"

She hit the ball across the table maliciously.

_Ping._

"What do you say about my so-called extreme competitiveness _now_?"

_Pong._

"I think you're proving my point."

_Ping._

"Ha! Not by a long shot, mister! I'm proving to you that," – _pong_ – "I am _not_ overly competitive by winning this," – _ping – "_game."

"Okay, either I'm losing my sanity or that made no sense."

_Pong._

"Well, even if it doesn't, you'll have to agree with me because," – _ping – "_I'll be the winner and you'll just _have_ to."

_Pong._

"You'll be the winner? I don't," – _ping – "_think so."

"Oh, I do."

_Pong._

"Really. That's interesting."

_Ping._

Chandler smashed the ball across the table; it skimmed the edge of the table and ricocheted out of Monica's reach. He laughed triumphantly. "Ha _HA_! In your _face_, Geller!"

Monica put her hands on her hips and pointed a threatening finger at him. "Did you just _guffaw_ at me?"

Chandler just grinned at her. "Pass the ball, _loser_."

Monica chucked it at him.

"You can't stand it, can you?" Chandler teased her. "You can't stand –"

"Serve the fucking ball or I'll do it myself!" Monica shouted. Chandler complied.

After two hours of hardcore ping-pong, Monica and Chandler seemed evenly matched. Both were dripping with sweat; their hair was haphazard, their clothes were rumpled, and their eyes shone with a strange and furious light. Neither of them showed any signs of wanting to quit.

"It's my serve! It's my serve!" cried Monica, whose voice had risen octaves higher and seemed miraculously stuck there. Her eyes were bloodshot from staring at the table so long.

"You _wish_!" Chandler said loudly, whose voice was starting to get hoarse. "My shot hit the table and you missed it! Again!"

"It didn't hit the table!" she yelled back.

"Yes, it did!" he cried passionately. "It hit the table and you didn't even go after it!"

"That's because it didn't hit the table!"

Chandler stormed over to her side of the table. He jabbed at the corner. "It hit right _here_. _Right here._ It hit _here _and ricocheted over _there_."

"No, it didn't!"

For one heated moment, they stared wildly at each other, breathing raggedly.

Then Chandler yelled, "Redo!" and returned to his side. Monica readied herself for his serve, shifting back and forth edgily on the balls of her feet.

"You know what?" Chandler said suddenly, lowering his voice and racket. "I don't think we should do this. It's getting out of hand."

Monica stopped moving and considered this. "Yeah . . . okay . . . I guess so."

"I mean, think of what Ross would say if he came in here. I wouldn't want him to see us like this. It'd be weird."

"Yeah."

"It's for the best, you know."

"Yeah . . ."

Chandler glanced at her briefly. "One more round?"

Monica lit up. "Okay!"

They rallied furiously for a few more minutes. Finally –

"I win, I win, _I win_!" yelled Monica, pumping her fist in the air victoriously. "I am totally the queen of _everything_! I _rule_!"

"Nuh-_uh_!" Chandler protested, moving to her side of the table and causing her to approach him threateningly. "That was such an unfair shot – it hit off your wrist!"

Monica jabbed her finger into his chest. "Don't start with me, Chandler Bing, I've won this game fair and square and I deserve –"

Before Monica could continue, Chandler grabbed her hand, pulled her against him, and kissed her fervently. "Oh," she murmured in surprise, but pulled him closer; and encouraged, he moved his hands to the sides of her face, grinning against her lips and thanking the Lord for such forgivable stupidity.

Monica ran her hands through Chandler's hair and kissed the side of his lips tantalizingly. "You really _are_ a good ping-pong player, Chandler," she purred.

He shivered. "Yeah, lots of practice, you know –"

Monica grinned and melted against him comfortably. "I win, you silly man."

"Yeah, I think you do."

"Couch?"

"Couch."

"Hope Ross doesn't mind."


End file.
